Her Boys
by moonlitwanderer
Summary: Sherlock is the Doctor. And the Doctor is Sherlock. Molly is desperately fighting her instructions not to bring the Doctor back from inside the watch but the Family are hunting for the Time Lord. Follows the style of Human Nature and The Family of Blood (Series Three Episode Eight and Nine). Enjoy :)
1. Chapter One

**A/N: This story has been brewing for a while. I promise you feels galore eventually but it will be sooo worth it. Don't forget to follow/favourite/review! Enjoy :)**

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It is remarkable how such a man can make such a large impact in such a small amount of time. When Sherlock Holmes arrived on Mrs Hudson's doorstep eighteen months ago, he was adrift in the perpetual forest of darkness, wandering incessantly looking for a purpose, a kismet. Before he met John the two of them were wandering similar paths of never ending loneliness, parallel to each other and never quite meeting until one day they did. One day their plots in the story of life intertwined. Their story arc carried for several years, blossoming as time went on. Love. That was their story. And this is how it ends.

* * *

"Hey, Jim," the barman signalled for the drunken man to come his way. "You got money to pay for that?" he nodded in the direction of the empty glass in the young man's shaky hand. His icy eyes narrowed. Jim met them with dark eyes and shook his head in one small action. "Get out."

"I'll do you any favour, my friend," Jim tried to laugh it off. He'd survived on free drinks for the past hour but now his wallet was light and all of his friends had run out.

"I said, get out," the burly man urged, jerking his head beyond the stained-glass-windowed door and into the forbidding streets. Jim shuddered as he looked out of the window. "It's dangerous out in the streets of London at night." He paused for effect as he stepped closer to the man, towering above him. "But it's even more dangerous in here." Jim walked quickly towards the door, wanting out of there as soon as possible. As he opened the door a strong gust of wind caught him and chilled him to the bone. "Don't come back here again," the barman warned. The drunken man stumbled out into the street and didn't dare to look back. If he had, he would have seen a short, middle-aged man questioning the barman on his motives.

Jim walked a few paces before finding himself face down on the floor. He didn't even try to pick himself up. What was the use? Get up, go to a pub, get kicked out. Get up, go to a pub, get kicked out. Get up, go-

His drunken mind stopped whirring as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. It was the barman again, wasn't it? He acted fast, faster than a man with no experience of the dark streets of London. In a flash he was on his feet, wild eyes flashing and knuckles brandishing towards the man who had touched him.

The other man was also quick, quicker than Jim. _Must have trained in the army, _Jim thought. _No-one is quicker than me_. They stood there for a minute, eyeing each other out, waiting for the other to make a move. The man lowered his arms first.

"I don't want trouble," he said cautiously.

"Everyone wants trouble with me," Jim spat. Gone were the slurred sentences; adrenaline pulsed through his veins. He found himself regretting not punching the man in the face. He found himself _wanting_ a fight. He quickly threw a punch to the man's nose, but the short bloke's reactions were fast and Jim's fist was firmly held. Jim tried again with his other hand, but again the man grabbed his shaking fist.

"I want to help you," said the man, looking straight into Jim's eyes. His grip relaxed and both men's arms dropped to their sides, their chests heaving. "Do you have somewhere to stay for the night?" Jim shook his head and dropped his gaze to the grey paving slabs which were strewn with ancient bubblegum and cigarette stubs. The man shoved his hand into his pocket for a minute, searching for his wallet. At last he brought it out and cautiously opened it, revealing a wad of notes. He wrestled with the rubber band that held them together and took out five twenty pound notes. Extending his arm, he offered the large sum of money to Jim, who had never seen that much money in his life.

"Thank you," he said, the words echoing around the deserted street, the raucous laughter of the pub faded into the background.

"Go and find somewhere to stay for the night, alright? Don't spend it on beer or whatever. You must use it to become a better man." He extended his hand again. "John." Jim took his hand a shook it firmly, looking him right in the eye.

"Jim. Though most people call me Drunken Jim..." he replied.

"Not anymore."A smile spread across Jim's face as he backed away into the night. John sighed and turned to go back to his flat as a warm feeling spread inside him and melted through his veins like butter on toast.

* * *

Jim walked down the hill with a skip in his stride as he felt the notes in his pocket. He was going to act on John's words and be an honest guy. An advertisement for a disused shop cropped up on the wall next to him: "Shop space for sale, only £50 to hire for a week. Call 01516473480 for details."

And that was the start of Jim's small business. With half of the money, he hired the shop. With the other half he bought stock. The sales increased daily and he was able to produce more stock, employ workers and grow his company. Business was booming for Jim.

Outside of the shop window there were three bike stands. Their yellow colour could brighten anyone's day, but what brightened Jim's day further was the young lady who parked her bike there every morning without fail.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: here's the next update - I hope you're all liking it :D Thank you to those who followed/favourited- it made my day! Enjoy:)  
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"Hey, Molly," Jim smiled as he saw her entering the small cafe. A week earlier he'd been on his lunch break when the quaint little place with labelled jars and gingham table cloths caught his eye and it immediately made him think of her. All of it was probably overly expensive Cath Kidston stuff, but the sweet, warm feeling of the place made him pluck up the courage to start talking to her. Numbers were exchanged and eventually Molly agreed to go on a date with him.

He spotted that she was wearing lipstick that glittered in the dim light, and had let her hair loose in long brown curls. He thought she looked beautiful.

"Jim?" he snapped out of his daydream. He must have been staring for too long. Molly smiled sympathetically and delicately sat down, draping her long coat over the back of the wooden chair to reveal a simple yellow dress beneath a mauve cardigan. Jim thought the bright colours suited her perfectly.

"You look beautiful." Words couldn't describe how he felt for this girl. He'd been waiting so long to see her again and then it took him long enough to be brave enough to ask her out. The waitress came over and they both ordered a hot drink: tea and hot chocolate.

Whilst sipping their warm beverages they got to know each other a bit more, going into detail about what the other did. Jim found her job as a laboratory technician fascinating, and found it more exciting when she mentioned helping out a detective in his cases.

"Detective? That's so cool," he whispered, hardly unable to contain his childish wonder.

"Yeah, he passes in and out and I sometimes assist him and his friend," she said, gazing into the distance, her hands wrapped tightly around the mug, drawing the heat in.

* * *

Jim packed a couple of products in the van that weren't shifting in the shop in the hope of selling them for good profit in the army headquarters. Teapots weren't especially high-priced, but even the soldiers needed a Goode Olde Cuppa Joe (in other words, tea). He was high spirited, having only just finished his first date with Molly.

Once he arrived, he was told to leave his van on the main road and bring the goods up by hand, what with security and that. He was lead to the main office by an austere looking man with a rigidly frosty outlook. Jim was shown into a barren room and was told to 'wait there until the man comes' gruffly.

He heard the key click in the lock behind him and immediately sensed there was something wrong. It would have been instinctive to run back to the door and bang aggressively on it, shouting for someone to let him out, and he would have done just that, had it not been that the door was white and the walls were white and there was no way of determining where the door actually was.

"Is there anyone there? Hello?" Maybe someone was watching him, like Big Brother. Maybe it was some kind of experiment. A reality TV show? A chair materialized in the middle of the room with no warning.

"Wait, tha-that's impossible!" Jim stared with wide brown eyes, one hand covering his mouth and the other pointing at the chair. Strangely, he felt compelled to sit in the chair, as if it were drawing him in. It looked relatively plump with Cath Kidston polka dots covering its surface; it looked pleasantly comfortable. However, after sitting down, the chair instantly transformed into a hard, wooden stool that hadn't been sanded or polished properly; a far cry from the plush chair that had appeared just a second ago.

Jim moved to stand up, but was restricted by ropes that suddenly strained around his thighs, wrapping themselves ever more tightly around his chest.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? I only came here to sell goods, not this! Who even are you?"

"We are the Family; would you like to see us?"

Jim's screams couldn't be heard for miles around.

* * *

"On my own, pretending he's bes-" Molly quickly shut her phone up before Jim realised what the song was and who was calling. She glanced at the screen. Sherlock. The song epitomised their relationship.

"You had a good day? I've put on the kettle so we can have a nice cuppa before you head off for the night. Sugar?" she asked innocently. This was their third date and it was getting a bit far for Molly's liking – he was spending so much time in her flat. Jim took a great sniff from opposite and stared deep into her eyes, his brown irises pushed back and the black void of his pupil penetrated her soul. She knew that he tended to gaze at her but this was like the Creepy-Staring World Championship and still he did not blink. After a minute she raised her eyebrows and he seemed to snap out of it.

"Yeah, it was alright," he finally replied, followed by another sniff. "I must have a cold coming on, actually. Two, please." He took a seat at her kitchen table as she poured the hot water into a mug.

"Sherlock and John solved another case today," she said, trying to cheer him up; Molly knew Jim liked hearing about the detective cases and about Sherlock and John's adventurous lifestyles. She brought the pair of mugs over to the table and pushed one in Jim's direction.

"What kind of case?"

"Oh, just a small one this week, actually."

"Tell me more," he leaned forward, bursting Molly's bubble of personal space.

"I don't know much, I just feel sorry for John," Molly tried to steer the conversation to a safer route; some of the cases were classified.

"Why?"

"It's like Sherlock's contract will run out... I wish I could tell you, Jim, but it's hard to explain exactly," She wished she hadn't gone done this path either.

"Where's he going to go? Tell me. Tell me now." He leaned even further forward, and the only sound was his mug shattering on the floor, the tea spilt everywhere.

"I'll pick that up," Molly said. Jim stayed in the same position, and stranger still, he didn't even offer to help her clean it up. He wasn't himself today. All that was needed was a spark to light the touch paper – she'd just about had enough of him today. A gasp escaped from her as a sharp pain surged from her finger and a drop of crimson blood fell to the floor after she cut herself on a sharp piece of the smashed pottery. However, Jim just sat there, his dark eyes boring into her head. Molly stared back in defiance.

"You know what? It's over." Her voice sounded more confident than she was feeling inside. When Jim didn't move, she grabbed hold of his - surprisingly muscular – arm and dragged him out of the door. "Did you hear me? Goodbye." And with that she slammed the door in his face and continued to clean up the mess that he'd made, wondering what happened to the Jim she went on a date with just a few days ago. Was it all a charade to lull her into a false sense of security? What was wrong with him?


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: Merry Christmas! (for yesterday!) Did you all have a great day? I certainly did :) Did you catch the Doctor Who episode? I think I may have cried more at the death of an inanimate object (Handles) than I did when Eleven regenerated... Ah well. So here's the next chapter! Introducing *drumroll* Sherlock and John! Enjoy :)**

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There was always another case for them to solve, another villain to bring to justice and never enough time for him to spend with her. Sometimes, she thought he recognised her, but then his eyes clouded over and he treated her like the woman he thought she was: shy, quiet, useful at times but unimportant.

Molly Hooper stared as they raced out of the door with another lead in their case, thanks to her. She always wished that the Doctor - Sherlock - could stay longer and John would leave earlier. It wasn't as if she didn't like John – she thought he was the epitome of what a man should be like: kind, caring, self-sacrificing, and well-mannered – but he got in the way and was part of yet another mystery that the Doctor hadn't explained in his list.

* * *

Molly had been fingering the TARDIS key that the Doctor had thrown at her before he had connected himself to that... thing. She frowned as she remembered everything that had happened on that day and the pain that she saw on the Doctor's face as he changed every single cell in his body from Time Lord to human. He had sacrificed his very soul so that they wouldn't be found by the Family of Blood who wouldn't stop until they had consumed him. The lines on the key were suddenly fascinating; unlike any ordinary key, some lines were wavy and others swirled in a never-ending spiral. Time.

Suddenly Sherlock burst through the doors with no knock and Molly had to stuff the key down her shirt where it hung safely due to the string that she'd attached earlier. He wasn't allowed to remember anything about his former life unless they were in immediate danger. She couldn't tell him who she was or what he used to feel for her because he wouldn't acknowledge it; she was just the laboratory technician whose equipment and limited knowledge could come in handy sometimes.

"Molly!"

"Oh, hello. I was just... doesn't matter." She always found herself lost for words with Sherlock. She found him intimidating compared to the gentle Doctor that she knew, however she couldn't stop herself from letting him take control; Sherlock still had the Doctor's face, the one she'd fallen in love with.

"Doesn't matter," he confirmed, confidently striding past her. John followed in his wake, smiling at her sympathetically.

"I've got a lunch date," Molly stammered, lying. As soon as she saw John she didn't want to be there so she made up any old excuse just to leave. She could see it between them; the looks they shared sometimes. It broke her heart.

"Cancel it. You're having lunch with me," he said, pulling two crisp packets out of the pockets of his long, black coat, not even turning to look at her. Her heart soared slightly when he said those words but she realised that it wouldn't just be him and her. It would also be the equipment, evidence and John. It would never just be him and her when he was Sherlock Holmes.

"What?" she managed to stammer.

"I need your help," he admitted and she smiled to herself. "It's one of your boyfriends. We're trying to track him down; he's been a bit naughty." She felt shy looking at him. She could not match the intensity of his speckled golden eyes.

"It's Moriarty?" John piped up.

"Of course it's Moriarty," Sherlock answered cockily as if he'd known all along. Thinking about it, he probably had. Molly knew he inherited his 'brilliant' (as John liked to call them, along with several other recycled adjectives) observational skills from the Doctor.

"Jim wasn't actually my boyfriend," she whispered. She meant it. How could she ever have a relationship with anyone else other than the Doctor? She didn't want to seem unkind so when Jim asked her out she graciously accepted but she didn't want to go very far. "We went out three times. I ended it."

"Yes, and he stole the Crown Jewels, broke into the Bank of England and organized a prison break at Pentonville. For the sake of law and order I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly." He always whipped out his words fast, another quality from the Doctor. They were so similar yet so different; Sherlock chose to be unkind and harsh at times for the sake of the law but the Doctor chose to be caring and gentle and it still worked out.

Yet she still couldn't believe that Jim was a master villain. He was always so lovely and kind to her when they were in the café having lunch. Her schedule didn't worry him and sometimes he was willing to wait until late at night when her shift ended to talk to her. Thinking about it, she did realise that something was wrong that night. But a master criminal? Really? He must have been really down after she dumped him...

Molly tried to tell Sherlock but he wasn't interested in her love life, only work. And John. Whilst examining some evidence that he'd somehow got from a footprint, he asked her whether it was acid or alkaline. Molly did a few tests - she'd learnt science in school and had learnt more when she had started travelling with the Doctor – and told him the answer.

"Thank you, John," he muttered. It was like someone had stabbed her in the belly. She wasn't _his_ Molly anymore, she was just Molly. He wasn't just John anymore like they were when they first met- he was _his_ John. Green jealousy overcame her as she glared at the Doctor, hating him even more for what he'd become. Sherlock loved John. The Doctor loved Molly. And she didn't know what to do.

But Molly was clever. She could see things that even the great detective couldn't see. The bags under his eyes, his gaze wandering towards John. Sherlock was vulnerable. She didn't want him to be hurt: by love, or physical damage. "Are you okay?"

He opened his mouth but she interrupted him before he could speak. "And don't say you are, because I know what it means, looking sad when you think no-one can see you."

"_You_ can see me." Finally something that confused the detective. A befuddled look appeared on his face.

"I don't count," Molly retorted. _To you_, she thought. However much it broke her heart, she knew she meant nothing to the consulting detective. And then Sherlock looked at her like it was his first time actually seeing her. His beautiful golden eyes bore into hers and it felt like the Doctor was back. Then Sherlock turned away and continued to examine something underneath the microscope. He wasn't back _yet_.


	4. Chapter Four

A/N: Hello again! Yay, thank you for so many views; it's really exciting to see my little old story rocketing! Please don't forget to review with ideas/critique which will make me write better/faster. Johnlock in this chapter :3 Enjoy :)

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Sherlock's collar was turned up as usual to the heavy rain that battered his neck and John could see his friend was in deep thought. In the rare moments that Sherlock let his barricade fall, John could see the weakness in his eyes and the yearning in his heart for the truth. There was something about Sherlock which was like he'd forgotten something important, like he'd left a case unsolved or the kettle on, and he couldn't quite remember what it was. It was strange, so strange. The barricade was used to cover this weakness so that others wouldn't know that something was different.

Yet using the barrier turned him into a man of stone, a man who no-one could extract any feelings or emotion out of. It was difficult even to crack a smile out of the man. Sherlock sighed woefully; it was obvious to John that he hadn't just been pondering about the case. His usually glistening and eager eyes had been dulled like a pebble and underlined with dark bags, making him seem like he hadn't slept in days. Maybe he hadn't, for all John knew.

Being with Sherlock made him notice things that he would have never seen before. A burly man stood on the corner of the street, piercings all over his face and tattoos covering every exposed inch of his muscled body. Yet big tears rolled down his face and plopped onto the pavement below him where a bouquet of flowers lay. Sherlock taught him to make deductions, yet what could he deduce about his friend's heart? John looked back to Sherlock.

* * *

Silence and secrets, that's what Sherlock was, followed by miracles of the mind to cover up the emptiness inside.

For the past few days, Sherlock had been thinking about his family. The thoughts always seemed to elude him when he needed them the most. Sitting beside a dancing fire was all he remembered from his childhood, coupled with memories of a brother watching a yellow sponge that lived in the ocean in a pineapple on the television. These fleeting glimpses of a past weren't enough to satisfy Sherlock's hunger for the truth of who he really was.

It seemed all of the blurriness and forgetfulness stopped when it came to 18 months ago when he met John. He used to think it was just coincidence that he remembered everything after that - every single moment they had shared together, and still every piece of evidence that solved every case – but recently he thought it was fate. To meet John Watson then his memory and life turn around was meant for. What chance did he stand against his kismet?

But that wasn't all. Nightmares plagued his sleep. In the beginning, they were just innocent dreams and he often wrote them down and drew them in his Journal Of Impossible Things. The adventures of an impossible man called the Doctor and his companion who seemed to change every night. At first it was just what the man got up to on his time-travelling escapades, but now there was a shadow looming over the dreams. They became more violent and the Doctor and his companion were being chased by something and the heroes were slowing down. They were about to get trapped by the villain, the desperate looks on their faces, inky black hands reaching out to grab them... Then he always woke up in a cold sweat. And Sherlock knew more than most did how nothing is impossible, only highly improbable, but this man of adventure into darkness was most definitely, without the smallest doubt, impossible.

* * *

John knew that his flatmate had bad dreams but he didn't know to what extent until Sherlock shared them with him. They were both staring out of their respective windows of the taxi, absorbed in their own thoughts, when Sherlock spoke up.

"John," he said quietly, an almost nervous tone to his voice.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John replied just as quietly. Sherlock rummaged in the pocket of his black trench coat and pulled out a book. The black, shiny, leather looked well kept but the pages inside were yellow and wrinkled; every page had been written on. As Sherlock handed the book to John to examine, their fingers brushed fleetingly.

"Journal Of Impossible Things," John muttered, reading the title to himself. The page it fell open on were multiple sketches of one particular girl. Next to each picture was a description, scrawled in familiar messy handwriting. John started to flick through the delicate pages as Sherlock spoke.

"You know I have dreams, yes?" John nodded. Every night he was woken up by the sound of a pot or vase of some sorts smashing because of Sherlock's flailing limbs from his bad dreams. Whenever there was a smash, he would rush into the room next door to check that his best friend was okay then sweep up the broken remains of an ill-fated piece of pottery before returning to his own room and falling back asleep again. At least, that was all he admitted to Sherlock. After sweeping up the shards of pottery, he proceeded to glance over to Sherlock's angelic face. The way his flawless pale skin was shaped so smoothly over his salient cheekbones took his breath away. And those beautiful ebony curls, although described as devilish by many, were almost ethereal. He would stay and sit for no more than half an hour in case Sherlock woke up to find John gazing lovingly at him. No. That wouldn't be right. It wasn't in the rulebook that was silently enforced by both of them.

"I have recorded them, these dreams," Sherlock spoke through gritted teeth, not wanting to let down his barricade, but he needed to tell someone. He needed explanations, answers. "I've never shown the journal to anyone before. They are completely impossible, yet so real to me. I keep imagining that I am someone else... something else. Two hearts. Can't be human. A doctor of sorts, running away from something through space and time."

"What are you running from?" John asked, still flicking through, occasionally reading the descriptions to extra-ordinary creatures that his friend had scribbled down. Sherlock seemed reluctant to answer; either he didn't know or didn't want to tell.

"That looks like the watch we have on our mantle piece," John murmured as he came across a page with an intricate-looking watched sketched in the middle of it.

"Yes, I don't know what it's for, but it's always there in the corner of every dream, emitting some sort of golden light."

"World war two?" John muttered to himself as he turned to a page with a child wearing a gas mask. The description was illegible.

"Yes, I... There are many creatures and people I meet on my travels, some quite terrifying, and others are quite pleasing."

"Potato men?" John chuckled at the humorous drawing of a potato with a face in a suit of armour.

"Like I said..."

"A police box, like from the 1960's or something?" John laughed to himself. "What's that for then?"

"The blue box, it's always there. It's like a magic carpet or a doorway to a different universe. It transports me to places." John turned back to the page with the pretty girl on, wanting to know who she was.

"She's a fictional character, I made her up; an invention. Rose, I call her, Rose. She seems to disappear and reappear wherever she likes. A rule-breaker, I remember." John flicked back a few pages; there were more drawings of pretty girls.

"You certainly have an eye for beautiful women," he teased, but his heart sank inside. He saw a few small sketches of a girl strikingly similar to Molly, but never did he see one sketch of himself in there. Did he not matter enough to be in Sherlock's dreams?

"It's just dreams, John. They are strongly associated with rapid eye movement sleep, during which an electroencephalogram shows brain activity that, among sleep states, is most like wakefulness." Sherlock tried to ease his nervousness with known facts, whipping them off his tongue, but it didn't seem to want to budge. Somehow divulging all of his secrets wasn't as easy as it had seemed.

John continued to gaze in wonder of the marvellous sketches of impossible creatures that the man with many faces had encountered. It was just... brilliant. "May I, borrow this to look at?" John asked tentatively; it wasn't often that Sherlock opened up like this and John was willing to grab the bull by its horns, so to speak.

"Of course," he replied, finally looking John in the eye and smiling a rare smile.


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: YAY thank you for the reviews I'm glad you like my story! Please keep them coming- they made my day. Also, Happy New Year (for tomorrow, depending on where you come from) and it's Sherlock tomorrow! Feel free to tell me what you think about the episode, I'm always here but for now, the next chapter. I had no idea how to explain what's happening to people who haven't seen the Doctor Who episodes so this is basically the adapted script and sorry if you think of David Tennant's Doctor- it's Benedict Cumberbatch okay? Okay. Enjoy :)**

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Rain pattered rhythmically on the window and Molly walked over. As soon as she saw the two of them climb in a taxi, she threw off her lab coat, replaced it with a rain jacket and ran down the stairs two at a time, her exact destination sending shivers down her spine in anticipation. Pulling her hood up, she ran to the bike stand where she unlocked the silver and pink bike – which was the cheapest to rent - and cycled hurriedly to her safe haven, an alleyway down the back of a dingy café on a side street. It was well out of the way of prying eyes that might look its way and think it valuable.

As she turned the corner, the TARDIS' blue light engulfed her. Molly swung herself off the bike and retrieved the key which she had hastily stuffed down her shirt as Sherlock and John had walked in on her earlier. The door opened easily and she stepped from the chilly British summer into the warm, familiar glow.

"Hello," she smiled fleetingly but it was gone quicker than it came. She sighed heavily. "I am talking to a machine."

_"Molly, this watch," he waved a small fob watch in front of her. "Is me. The creatures can track me down through the whole of time and space. They can smell me, but they haven't seen me." Poor them, Molly thought. They hadn't seen his dreamy eyes which were as blue as the ocean with specks of gold in them like the sparkling sunset, or his ebony hair which fell in perfect little ringlets around his beautiful face. It almost seemed as if she could cut herself on his salient cheekbones._

_"Their lives are bound to be running out - so we'll hide, wait for them to die." _It seemed simple enough to hide at the time. Little did she know.

_"That's why I've got to do it. I've got to stop being a Time Lord. I'm gonna become human." Her heart felt like it had stopped. _

Molly looked at the headset hanging dormant above her, a pained expression etched upon her face.

_"Never thought I'd use this. All the times I've wondered."_

_"What does it do?" _

_"Chameleon arch. Re-writes my biology. Literally changes every single cell in my body. I've set it to human." He whipped his words out as he fiddled with the headset, then he grabbed the watch off Molly, their hands brushing fleetingly, and fitted it into the headset. _

_"The TARDIS will take care of everything for me. Invent a life story, find me a setting and integrate me," he said distractedly, still fiddling with the chameleon arch. Molly wondered what would happen to her whilst he was oblivious to all of this. _

_"You'll just have to improvise, Molly," he said, as if he'd read her mind. "I should have enough residual awareness to let you in." _

But not love me, Molly thought.

_"Isn't it going to hurt?" she asked, scared for what she might see when he flicked the switch. He leaned down and kissed her tenderly on the lips, savouring every moment they had left together until he changed._

_"Not really," the Doctor said matter-of-factly._

Rule One: the Doctor lies.

Molly wanted to block out what happened next and just forget it; it was too painful to recall. She flicked the switch that he'd shown her. The screen in front of her fizzed and then a harsh white glow emitted from it, before the Doctor's face appeared.

"So, Molly," he began. She knew every single word a hundred times over yet she was hopeful that there was something else that she'd missed.

"Here's a list of instructions for when I'm human and you're improvising. One: don't let me hurt anyone or anyone hurt me. You know what humans are like; there'll be WWIII or something." She smiled. He was always joking about things that were meant to be serious. That was something that Sherlock Holmes hadn't inherited because he never even smiled, let along crack a joke or laugh. She supposed he did things like that with John...

"Two: don't worry about the TARDIS; no-one will notice it, especially not me. Just keep it hidden away and leave it be. She likes time on her own." It was nice to think that there was at least one other person who knew about the real Doctor, even if it was just a machine.

"Nine and three quarters- wait, that's Harry Potter... where were we up to again? Three? Three: The watch. You can't simply open it. This is very important. If you simply open the watch then the Time Lord from the watch will clash with the human inside my body and I could explode... or something. So make sure the human me is dead before you open the watch to release the Time Lord me. Comprenez-vous? Oui? Okay. Next one." She wondered how she was going to be able to convince Sherlock to commit suicide, especially now he had something to live for.

"Five: don't get involved in big historical events like WWIII (see number one). Keep your head low." He chuckled to himself and she also smiled. That was a poor excuse for a height-related joke which he always played on her.

"Six: you. Don't let me abandon you." Molly smiled sadly but reminded herself that he hadn't completely abandoned her as he had seen her today. "And fi-" She pressed the fast-forward button. She knew it all and didn't need the useless bit in the middle where he was just trying to be funny. It wasn't a laughing matter. _The Doctor was in love. And it wasn't with her_. She hit the play button in time for the last instruction.

"Twenty-three: if anything goes wrong or if they find us, you know what to do. Open the watch. Don't open it unless you have to because if you do then they'll find me. Extreme circumstances, okay? Like WWIII." She rolled her eyes. She was about to hit the stop button like she always did – she thought this was the end of the tape – but he continued, his silky voice echoing around the TARDIS, almost like he was there with her. Leaning in, she listened to his last note.

"Oh, and, Molly. Although I won't be... as friendly with you as much as I am now when I'm human, don't let it get you down. Oh, and, thank you." He smiled as the screen fizzed back to its normal display.

"What now? You didn't tell me about love, did you? That's no good. What in the name of dickens..." she slammed her hand on the console and immediately withdrew it, rubbing it to sooth the pain, while she carried on talking. "...Am I supposed to do? You didn't think of love, did you? You wouldn't." She sighed heavily. The final note had been a blessing and a curse.

"You had to fall in love with a human. And it wasn't me."


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: THANK YOU so much for all of the follows, favourites and reviews they really keep me motivated yay! No spoilers, but Sherlock Series Three is well worth the wait, trust me, and please feel free to chat about it by PM or whatever I'm open. Next chapter! Enjoy :)**

* * *

"-Not your house keeper, dear!" Mrs Hudson sighed as Sherlock and John dashed out again, relishing their youthful spirits as they left her on her own, again. No matter how much they annoyed her by asking her not to clean and tidy, she loved them like they were her own boys, so she felt an obligation to do anything she could for them.

Sighing heavily, she picked up her purple feather duster and donned her sunshine yellow rubber gloves with pink fluffy hems. She was in her element, a damp cloth in one hand and the duster in the other she set about beginning to clean Sherlock's flat. Immediately she wondered why she started because as soon as she opened the cabinet, a days-old human head rolled onto her new feathery slippers and she emitted an ear piercing shriek. A label attached to the hair read, 'Kelly Marley, 26', in Sherlock's familiar scrawl. Eyes wide and jaw dropped, Mrs Hudson continued to stare at the disembodied head, before picking it up and, keeping it at arm's length, carefully placing it back in the cabinet where it belonged.

Leaving the cabinet behind, she turned next to the kitchen work surfaces. Marble; beautiful and black. She remembered choosing it with her husband almost three decades ago. A sad smile crept its way onto her face as she remembered him and the times they'd had. _Gone, like the shine on this marble so get a move on!_ She began rubbing away and saw the old sparkle appear once more. As she scrubbed further, the whole work surface was as clean as a whistle, and with no sign of long-deceased limbs or any others of Sherlock's gruesome experiments.

She limbered into Sherlock's bedroom, the very smell of which caused her to gag, so she entered only after she'd sprayed air freshener until the air was heavy with _Daisy Freshness, a smell that will drive even the plague away_, and still the vile smell pervaded the surroundings. "Bed not laid, curtains still closed, broken vase on the floor," Mrs Hudson tutted to herself. It wasn't unusual to find some remains of shattered pottery on the carpet, but despite the attempt made to clean it up, a vacuum cleaner was still needed to eliminate any pieces of the misfortunate vase that had been destroyed.

Quickly, she set about her work, neatening the bed and flooding the room with light from outside. Once she was done – and she was done pretty quickly (_Daisy Freshness_ didn't always live up to what the advertisement boldly stated) – she moved onto John's room which needed hardly any attention (thank goodness), before setting herself heavily in their plaid armchair which sank comfortably beneath her weight.

* * *

_Gallifrey. Time Lord. He's like the night. You're worst nightmare and best dream. His name... _

Voices whispered about the room, awakening Mrs Hudson from what she thought had been a light nap. Her hand slapped to her forehead as a sudden burst of pain shot to her head. _Stupid migraines_, she thought as she heaved herself up from the armchair, preparing for the long walk downstairs for the useless painkillers.

_He's a tempest; the raging storm in the heart of the sun. It's nearly time. Wait patiently. The lord of time will rise again. The Doctor. The eternal being. _

She stopped, turned and looked around. No one. Strange. She turned backed around and continued towards the door.

_He is ancient and forever. And he burns like the sun. He is the Doctor, the never ending drum beat, pulsing through..._

"Is there anyone there?" she called, slowly turning round in fear of what – or who – might be behind her. "Sherlock? John? Is this another of your jokes? Sam Cooper, is it you? Well, it was funny while it lasted, but –"

A bright white light emitted from the mantelpiece, shooting straight up to the ceiling then bouncing off the walls and illuminating the room like she was in heaven. Suddenly, the whispers became louder until she could hardly hear herself think. Fingers in ears, Mrs Hudson ran to the mantelpiece and searched for the source of the light – that intriguing fob watch of Sherlock's. Immediately after she shut it, the voices ceased and the dazzling light stopped blinding her.

For a while she fingered it fondly, wondering whether she should open it again or if it should stay shut. After all, it was Sherlock's property and although it had caught her eye from time to time, it would be theft if she took it. She wasn't anything more than their landlady, anyway. Sherlock wouldn't miss it though, would he? It was only a watch. She was pretty sure it didn't work for its normal purpose. Just sentimental value and Sherlock didn't seem to be able to feel any sentiment anyway.

So she took it, easy as that. Slipped it into her breast pocket and there it stayed. Over the next twenty-four hours she opened it often, almost every hour on the hour. The light was not so violent towards her now; it merely crawled lazily out of the watch whilst she listened to the whispers. It was almost as if she had her own case to solve now – what was this watch and who was it talking about? They must be someone and they sounded quite... handsome.

* * *

Almost as soon as she'd settled back down there was a loud knock at the door. One solitary knock. She carefully replaced the fob watch back on the mantelpiece in case it was Sherlock or John at the door. "No respect," Mrs Hudson huffed under her breath as she hauled her creaking body off the comfy couch and began making her way towards the door laboriously. "Can't get any rest around here these day, you know." The door squeaked open when she pulled the golden handle that she polished often and with care, revealing the most peculiar-looking man. He was dressed head to toe in black but Mrs Hudson supposed that's what most people wore these days. Fashion was one area of modern day society that she didn't understand: why people would walk around half naked, she'd never know. Every day when she wandered out for a two cartons of milk (one for her and one for Sherlock and John) and saw girls who had shorts that showed their bottoms and vest tops that revealed half of their chests! _Despicable_, especially in winter. Live and let live anyway, that was her motto. Meanwhile, the man still stood there with black sunglasses shadowing his face and dark hair slicked back. She noted that he was chewing gum. _How rude_, she thought.

"Watch," the man extended his palm so that it was right before Mrs Hudson's face. Call her old fashioned, but Mrs Hudson believed that a nice 'hello, how are you?' was the correct way to start a conversation properly and politely. The youth of these days really had no idea, did they?

"What am I looking at?" she replied, knowing full well that this man was after the fob watch that had captivated her. He must have been after the winding golden light that crawled out of the watch every time it was opened. _Must be valuable_, she thought.

"Don't lie to me, Mrs Hudson," the man whispered menacingly. She detected tones of sweet Irish; just like her husband. "Because I know who matters to you the most. Sherlock Holmes and his little buddy Dr John Watson. Oh yes, I know about them alright. I'm Jim Moriarty, the spider at the centre of the web and at this moment I'm going to pull your string and get that watch. If you give it to me you'll all be safe: John, Sherlock and you. Your boys and you living happily ever after. The end. How soppy and childish. Like a fairy tale isn't it, Mrs Hudson?" The man spoke with the viciousness of a lion and if she knew what was best for her she knew not to mess with him but... why the watch?

"I don't know what you're talking about, Mr Moriarty," Mrs Hudson cried, her voice barely a whisper.

"I know you do, old woman," Moriarty sneered, grabbing her collar and bringing her face mere inches from his so she could feel his breath upon her skin. It was ice cold. She stared defiantly into his black eyes, unwilling to give away one of Sherlock's possessions. Unexpectedly, he shoved her to the ground and she hit her head on the hard wooden floor, knocked out cold. "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time. I'll be back though, be warned. The Time Lord _will_ be mine."


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N: hi all! Thank you all for reading this far and putting up with me! Johnlock in this chapter, sorry to anyone who doesn't like it but it works for the story. And I don't own Sherlock or Doctor Who just sayin'! Enjoy :)**

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"Just so you're aware, the gun is his idea... I'm just, you know his..." Colleague? They were past that stage now and John did more than just help Sherlock pay the rent. Friend? He supposed... well... he wouldn't say he was just that. They were best friends but there was something more between the two men. Lover? That was more like it.

"My hostage!" Sherlock shouted, a gun pointed to his hostage-slash-lover's head. He remembered a line off one of the dumb kid's TV shows that his mysteriously elusive brother Mycroft had watched: "Love is handing a gun to someone and letting it point to your head, believing they won't pull the trigger." He smiled inwardly; in this moment it was so very true.

He loved John Watson.

"Hostage! Yes, that works," John said quietly as they began to back off slowly, eventually turning the corner onto the next street, further and further away from the noise of the police. Sherlock needed an excuse to be alone with John for a while after all of the chaos. "So what now?"

"Doing what Moriarty wants- becoming a fugitive. If he wants some sort of watch he'll get a watch, but not when the police are on our trail. We have to become scarce, disappear. Run!" And with that they fled down the road, the pavement beside them shining like silver from the rain. Sherlock felt like he was dragging John along, rather than them running side by side, together, so he looped the chain between the handcuffs that bound them together and grabbed hold of John's hand tightly. His best friend - lover – looked at him questioningly: _you feel the same way_? Sherlock nodded curtly, enjoying the telepathic conversation that was unfolding.

Sherlock could tell a lot from smiles; whether they were fake or genuine, heart-broken or playful – he needed to for his job. The way that John smiled in that moment, the way his lips spread into a wide grin and lit up his war-dulled eyes, ignited a spark inside Sherlock that he had never experienced before. As they ran on down an alleyway, the fire warmed his very soul, a part of him that he'd never had since John had arrived.

As the sirens screamed across the junction opposite them, Sherlock pulled John into an alleyway, tossing the gun to the ground like one would toss a doll in the process. They ran down the mouldy side street at top speed, the disgusting smell enveloping John, encouraging him to gag, but whisking past Sherlock. In the near distance, a row of military iron railings loomed; an easy feat for the detective on his own, but cuffed to the short army doctor it was certainly a challenge.

Sherlock, with his customary flair, leapt up onto the top of the dustbin and vaulted the railings, leaving John to slam his face into the bars as his hand was dragged upwards along with Sherlock's; not exactly one of Sherlock's most quixotic moves. The consulting detective briefly forgot about his companion and raced onwards, only to be dragged back by his cuffed hand. Reaching through the railings with his free hand, John grabbed Sherlock's coat, dragged him closer and glared into his face which was millimetres from his own. They stood there for what seemed like eternity (but in reality was less that ten seconds), breathing heavily from the run, adrenaline pulsing through their veins, until Sherlock could stand it no longer.

He stooped down and their lips crashed into one another. The former soldier was taken aback by Sherlock's bold move which was completely opposite to the detective's normal behaviour. Admittedly, Sherlock was shocked by his own actions, but grew to quite like it. In the eighteen months that they had known each other, John had grown ever fonder of the man he shared a flat with. There had been moments when he knew that there was someone behind the emotionless 'freak'; times when there was a gentle, caring human being behind the marble man. Sherlock could very well buy the flat but he didn't; it was more financially beneficial for Mrs Hudson. And John always noticed when Sherlock 'forgot' to ask him for his half of the rent. It was just little things like this that made his love Sherlock more.

Sherlock broke away briefly to look into John's sky blue eyes. He found himself lost inside the swirling blue vortex. All of the pent up feelings from the past few months - especially this case – were being released. With his free hand, John fondly brushed a loose, dark lock away from Sherlock's face and he felt his flat-mate's cuffed hand start to intertwine with his own above them.

"Doctor! I-" The moment was shattered as John turned around, always answering to his title. A look of shock registered on his face as he realised who it was. Molly. Now, John was not a heartless man - he was far from it - and he noticed things that even the genius detective didn't. Molly had a crush on Sherlock. That much was obvious to him. In fact, everyone could see it except from the man himself. To see your crush kissing someone else in a darkened alleyway - he was only guessing - but it must be soul destroying.

Her face was etched with hurt. They stood there for a few paralysing moments before she fled. The two men glanced at each other worriedly before negotiating the railings, their hands still entwined.

* * *

Molly ran all the way back to the hospital, taking the stairs three at a time until she reached the floor where she worked and slammed the door behind her, breathing heavily with hot tears running down her face. She hated him. **She hated him!** SHE HATED HIM!

How could he?

Anger pulsed through her veins, turning to despair as she slid down the back of the door, wanting nothing more than to disappear back into the Doctor's world. She was happy there. She had only ever been happy there.

A spoilt child, Molly had received everything she wanted: her own stable full of ponies and horses, multiple gadgets – the latest of every model as soon as it came out. However, in her possession-filled world, she'd never found what she truly wanted - love and happiness. Her parent's screams could be heard from the other side of the mansion and her brother's blank stares still haunted her; he didn't accept her as part of their family.

The Doctor had come along and taken her in, showing her what's really out there apart from bank accounts, A* grades and idle gossip. He showed her love which was something she had never experienced before. What it was like to love and to be loved.

Now he loved John and John loved him back. She'd been standing there for quite some time, watching them devouring each other's faces like they were going to die tomorrow. She knew it would all have to end at some point, and Sherlock would have to become a Time Lord again. John's heart would be broken but he would move on... he had to.

Molly picked herself up from the dusty floor with a new hope in her heart- her beloved Doctor was coming back for her. She dusted herself off and threw her coat around her shoulders, switching the light off before walking across the darkened lab, sighing tiredly. As she reached the door to the corridor, Sherlock was stood in the darkness behind her with his head turned away so she didn't notice him. She reached for the door handle, taking a deep breath.

"You're wrong, you know." Molly jumped out of her skin with fright and whisked around to address the familiar voice and saw his tall, dark silhouette, his ebony curls framed his pale face. Had he been there the whole time, heard her sobs of anger and frustration? She was about to say something when he got there first.

"You do count. You've always counted and I've always trusted you." Where had this sudden change of heart come from? As Sherlock, he never revealed anything to her. This was more like something the Doctor would say. As she looked down to what he was wearing, he wasn't clad in Sherlock's trench coat, purple shirt and blue scarf; he was wearing what the Doctor wore – a dapper silver suit with a thin light blue tie.

"Doctor?" she stuttered, fighting the urge to hug him there and then.

"Yes, it's me. A figment of your imagination until the Family is dead." She smiled sadly; he wasn't really there. "But just remember that Sherlock Holmes isn't real. And that _I_ love you."

"You were kissing John," she mocked, a smiled teasing its way across her thin lips. She couldn't help herself; she added, "passionately."

"That wasn't me!" the Doctor fidgeted in annoyance, embarrassed by what his human self had done. "It was Sherlock. I did ask you to help me avoid trouble!" She laughed fleetingly, but it disappeared as soon as it had come. As she reached out to touch his cheek, he disappeared, leaving her alone once more.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N: here's the next chapter! If you like it then please don't forget to review, follow and/or favourite (I'll give you cookies!) Enjoy :)**

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As soon as the Doctor disappeared, Sherlock bounded through the doors, nearly knocking Molly over in the process. John followed behind, a sympathetic smile on his face once more. The previous kissing incident was all but forgotten. Sherlock was typing on his phone to some unknown destination and when it beeped once more, a small smile appeared on his face.

"Sorry, who are you texting again?" John asked, rubbing the wrist where the handcuff had been. He had certainly been pulled hard by Sherlock.

"Moriarty," the detective replied, excitement reaching his voice. "The game is merely getting going John."

"And what exactly did he want?"

"The watch, whatever that is. He just keeps texting the same thing over and over. Give me the watch. Give me the watch. What watch? Do you remember a watch, John? A watch, like a fob watch? Or a wristwatch. You've got loads of wristwatches, a whole collection if I'm correct." John looked at Sherlock in horror. "Oh, don't look so shocked. I've seen the Hello Kitty ones as well. However the Avengers one is quite my favourite."

That was the first time Molly had heard Sherlock crack a joke. It was strange seeing a smile creep onto the detective's solemn features. John obviously noticed it as well, because rather that protesting, he grinned and laughed with him.

"He said if he didn't get the watch then something bad will happen. He says he has moles in the armed forces who could do some damaged if needs be." Sherlock stared at John and raised his eyebrows, obviously excruciated as he exclaimed through gritted teeth, "What watch is it, though?"

"I'm not the genius in this room, Sherlock, you are. Look it up in that Brain Castle of yours or something." Sherlock immediately put his hands to his head and he had his eyes closed tightly in frustration, searching frantically through whatever sort of memory system he had set up in there. As time went on, he became more and more agitated and his face had turned the colour of one of John's Christmas jumpers.

"I can't find it."

"You're joking. You've saved every fact under the sun!"

"You've obviously not saved the fact that it's called a Mind Palace. And anyway, I've got to delete things every now and then to prepare space. My head's not that big."

"Contrary to popular opinion," John added smugly.

_The watch. The fob watch. Jim must be... no. He can't be one of the Family. He just can't be. But he wants the watch – the Time Lord, the Doctor. Well he can't ever get it. _The Doctor was Molly's. But... where was the watch? The Doctor took it with him – it was in his pocket when he changed to human. So, if she wasn't mistaken, it must still be in his pocket.

The black trench coat had been discarded over one of the benches by Sherlock as he had strolled in. Whilst the two men were talking, Molly sneaked over and checked his pockets but in each she found nothing, only the smooth, silk lining and a few nicotine patches. Where could it be then? The flat? It must be in the flat.

"If you two don't need me then I'll just..." Neither of them even noticed her over their bickering. Sighing, Molly exited quickly, unwanted.

* * *

Upon arriving at 221b, Molly rapped hard on the bronze door knocker. It had long gone dark and the street lights shone saffron beams onto the road below which glittered in the rain. She was already soaked, and wished that Mrs Hudson, the kind landlady, would open the door quickly. However, Molly had neither the time nor the patience to wait for the old lady to come to her aid so she swung the door open herself. Revealed was Mrs Hudson lying on the floor, unconscious. Panicking, Molly rushed to her side, gently patting the old lady on the cheek at first, but soon she had to resort to shaking her by the shoulders a little more violently that intended. Eventually she gained consciousness.

"Molly?" Mrs Hudson whispered weakly. The young woman nodded in reply and immediately began to sit her up. Once she was stable, Molly ran to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water, frantically searching for a clean cup to fill.

"Do you have a watch?" _No time for niceties, just get to the point_. Mrs Hudson looked confused, perhaps it wasn't fair on the old lady to be demanding such things, but there wasn't time to search Sherlock's mess of a flat. "The fob watch? It has an intricate lid..." She struggle for other words to describe it. There was no time. An embarrassed look crossed the landlady's face.

"Actually, yes, I do know the fob watch you are talking about, my dear," Mrs Hudson said, sipping on the water. She talked at an excruciatingly slow pace, but at the same time pointed up. "It's upstairs on Sherlock's mantelpiece. Funny old thing." Molly immediately flew up the stairs two at a time, not pausing for breath. This was important. As soon as she entered the room she noticed the watch above the fire; it was like it was calling her name, beckoning her to take it. Once she had retrieved the object, she made her way back to Mrs Hudson, who was still sitting on the floor, but most of the colour had returned to her cheeks and her voice wasn't as weak as before.

"I must admit," Mrs Hudson spoke up. "It was a rather intriguing object and I'm sorry to say I am a thief. I stole it from Sherlock's mantelpiece and I suppose you are here to return it to him, are you? It's awfully interesting though. Every time you open it, beautiful golden light unravels itself and there are beautiful voices that come from it. It talks of a man called the Doctor. He's a wonderful man, apparently. Saved lots of people's lives too. Sounds like a pretty decent chap if you ask me," she winked. Molly smiled, that sounded more like the Doctor.

"Oh, he's more than pretty decent, Mrs Hudson," she whispered.

"You know him? You must show him to me, my dear. In fact, show him to me soon. It said the time was near and that he is coming soon. Don't know what that means..." Molly's heart soared with joy. Her Doctor was coming back for her.

"Thank you so much, Mrs Hudson. I can never thank you enough. But I've got to explain something to Sherlock and I think you can help. Maybe you could come with me and I can sort you out." She glanced at the old lady's forehead where a bruise was beginning to blossom. "May I ask how you came to be lying on the floor?"

"Oh, Molly," Mrs Hudson cried. "There was a strange man at the door and he threatened to hurt me and my boys if I didn't hand over the watch! I didn't give in, though, but he was awfully violent." Molly was shocked, but all she could do was rub the kindly woman's back to ease the scare and whisper encouraging words. It seemed like she was doing a doctor's job.


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: Thank you to reviewers/followers/favouriters/viewers you all mean so much to me! :D So here's the next chapter. Warning: potential Johnlock feels :'( Enjoy :)**

* * *

_"If you simply open the watch then the Time Lord from the watch will clash with the human inside my body and I could explode... or something. So make sure the human me is dead before you open the watch to release the Time Lord me.  
Comprenez-vous? Oui?"_

* * *

"Oui," Molly whispered, the rules of the mission firmly imprinted in her head.

"Sherlock, we need to talk," Molly called, striding confidently through the doors with Mrs Hudson strolling along behind her. Her confidence levels had risen since she had been told the news and she could hardly contain her excitement – the Doctor was coming back! She glanced at John but he seemed unwilling to leave, so she ploughed on.

"You have to die, Sherlock," she started. Admittedly it wasn't the best way to start as she realised when Sherlock gave her a look of utter confusion. "Moriarty wants the watch, right? Here's the watch." She held it up just out of Sherlock's reach and watched his eyes follow it.

"That's the one from the mantelpiece, right?" John asked. "You've been in our flat?"

"Shut up, John. I'm sorry, but there's not time," she snapped, before turning back to Sherlock. "This watch contains the most wonderful man in the universe, the Doctor, a Time Lord. It's what Moriarty's after. His species lives off the stuff. But the Doctor became human to get away from him. I know it sounds mad but the Time Lord part of him went inside this watch."

"Time Lord being...?" John was the only one able to speak; Sherlock was still trying to get his head around things.

"Alien, yes. Sherlock was born on another world."

"I'm sorry, Molly, but how do you know all of this? You're not exactly the most important person in the universe are you? Who are you in the grand scheme of things?" John started to lose his temper.

"I may not be important to you and Sherlock but me and the Doctor, we were more than friends. He's the most important person in my life, okay, mate? Human, by the way." Her annoyance with John was building up by the second. "In summary, Sherlock has to die in order for the Doctor to return and save everyone from Moriarty who is likely to do something very dangerous if he isn't tamed. Just look at what he has already done to Mrs Hudson!"

The two men whipped their heads around to look at the huge bruise that was sitting on their landlady's forehead. _Attacked. _Sherlock also noted that her hands were shaking, her breaths were in short rasps and she was constantly looking behind her back. _Moriarty_. "Jesus," John muttered as he crossed the room to offer comfort to Mrs Hudson. No-one said anything for a while. It was all too preposterous to seem real.

"Actually Sherlock," John began, pulling a black leather book from his pocket. "You said yourself that in these dreams you were the Doctor. The man that was constantly running from the darkness i.e. Moriarty, and all those creatures, aliens, just like the Doctor is. It makes sense, but..." Their eyes met and they knew what the truth meant.

"But I have to die," Sherlock finally said as John buried his face in his hands.

"But it's who you are, Sherlock," Molly said urgently, pressing her hand to his heart. "It's who we are." She grabbed his hand, willing him to see beyond the laboratory technician to the woman he loved – loves.

"Molly, you're just... you're not making any sense!" Sherlock whispered, his eyes flickering with something Molly had never seen before – fear. "I don't want to go. I want to stay here with John and we would have a life together at 221b."

"I understand that you're scared of what might happen if you do die but if you don't, far worse things will happen... to all of us." Molly glanced at John who had led Mrs Hudson closer and resumed sitting on the other side of Sherlock. She could feel the anger rising in her throat; she wanted to slap Sherlock hard yet she wanted to kiss him like they had many times before.

"It... doesn't matter you know," John stammered, his soldier-like posture returning, making him look stronger than his wavering voice let on. "I'll be fine without you but..." They looked each other in the eye, wanting nothing more than this to all be one of Sherlock's fanciful dreams. Suddenly, their whole life flashed before their eyes; not their pasts, but their future together.

* * *

They walk down Baker Street hand in hand, Sherlock's blue scarf billowing behind him. A look of pure love is shared between them as they continue. Everyone they pass congratulates them on their engagement; many people shake hands with Sherlock respectfully and hug John with joy. Mrs Hudson is still there at the doorway, smiling warmly and ready to welcome her boys back to their old home.

A child appears. The two fathers sit by the bedside, their hands intertwined fiercely, waiting for their baby. John cradles it in his arms, looking down with pride in his eyes as Sherlock gazes lovingly at his husband, tears welling up in his usually emotionless eyes. They share a sweet kiss over their newborn child; the world is their oyster and here was the pearl.

They sit in the front row of Hamish's first ever school play, even though he is Villager 6 and he has no lines to say. John holds the brand-new camcorder, filming his son's great day while Sherlock watches on with delight, admiring his son's fine acting skills which he had obviously acquired from him, occasionally muttering about the poor acting techniques of the other children in the production.

Sherlock relishes picking a fight with a teacher at parent's evening. John sits silently behind, head in hands, whilst his husband completely destroys their reputation that they'd worked so hard on. Meanwhile, Hamish watches from the sidelines, secretly backing his dad, who is winning at the battle of wits.

Eight fine-looking grandchildren swarm around Sherlock like hungry kids do at an ice-cream van. John collapses back in his favourite tweed armchair with exhaustion and laughs as he sees Sherlock being bombarded with playfulness, a lost look on his face. The lines on John's face crease into a smile for the last time as he whispers, "I love you, my brilliant Sherlock," before fading away.

* * *

A sad smile crossed Sherlock's face as he realised what their future could be and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. John's hand raised to wipe the tears away but more appeared in his own eyes as he realised what could never be. Sherlock turned to Molly with a sort of fierceness in his eyes that she'd never seen before.

"So what is he like then, this Doctor, eh?" he sniffed.

"He's like fire and ice and rage," Mrs Hudson piped up from behind them. "He's like the night and the storm in the heart of the sun. He is ancient and forever. He burns in the centre of time and can see the turn of the universe and... he's wonderful." A smile spread on Molly's face- that was the Doctor she knew, not Sherlock Holmes who sat before her.

"A-and that's him, then?" Tears ran freely down Sherlock's bewildered face. "This man from my dreams is real? The Doctor doesn't love John does he? He's so lonely... and that's what you want me to become?"

"You have me," Molly persisted. There wasn't much time until Moriarty did something disastrous.

"You?" he spat, 'uncharacteristically' rude. "The same Molly Hooper that was always so quiet and sweet to me, now somehow you have changed your tune. You're violent and lippy now. It's not right. Who are you then, in my other life? Who are you?"

"I'm-I... You love me," she said simply. John snapped out of deep thought and glared at her. She never thought she would have to fight properly with John - gentle, caring, kind, John – yet it seemed he was preparing for something bigger than the snarky comment before.

"_I_ love him," John snapped. "And he loves me back. How could you, an inexperienced girl who works with dead people, ever learn to love?" A look of hatred crossed his eyes. Sherlock stood in the middle, undecided which person he would be. Time Lord or Consulting Detective? Alien or Machine? Doctor or Detective?

"It's not like that. We travel through time and space and we see the universe. There's plenty of time to pick up social skills." Molly could feel her patience running out; the clock was ticking.

There was a silence which seemed to last forever. The ticking of the clock and Sherlock's raggedy breathing was all that could be heard. He seemed to be thinking – in his Mind Palace as he called it; Molly chuckled as she remembered all of Sherlock's weird habits that were inherited from the Doctor.

After a while, Sherlock raised his head and looked at Molly straight in the eye which sent shivers down her spine; he hadn't done that since the day he turned from the Doctor to Sherlock Holmes.

"I need time to talk to John," Sherlock said. "If you could...?" Molly and Mrs Hudson crossed the lab and sat out in the corridor.

After fingering the fob watch in her palm, Mrs Hudson tossed it to Molly and asked, "You really want him back, don't you?" Molly nodded, and a lone tear slipped down her cheek.

"More than anything. Not just for the country but for me," she admitted. "_I_ need him."

The older woman nodded, seemingly grasping the situation. "I understand, my dear. Every day I want my husband back, but sometimes wanting isn't enough to bring people back from the grave. You, on the other hand, have got a chance to get your man back. I hope he'll make the right decision," she said quietly, almost to herself. Molly turned to look at him and saw beyond the old landlady who pottered around 221b. She was a woman wise beyond what she let on. Simultaneously they reached out for a hug; they were both in need of one.

That was how Sherlock found them half an hour later, locked in a tight hug. As soon as she saw him, Molly jumped up, eager for the answer. John appeared at the door a few seconds later, a vacant expression on his face, though it was clear he had been crying.

"For the sake of the country and justice, I will become the Doctor," Sherlock stated emotionlessly. Molly could hardly contain her excitement; not only would England be saved, but she would have her Doctor back.


	10. Chapter Ten

**A/N: I don't know. You'll either find this chapter really cheesy (hopefully not) or extremely heart breaking :( Either way, please don't forget to review/follow/favourite! This is the penultimate chapter, just sayin', so you can go check out my other stories if you like! Enjoy :)**

* * *

She led him up onto the roof of St Bart's with the only instruction being, 'take your time'.

John lingered. This morning he woke up in the arms of Sherlock, happy as could be, and tonight he was to lose his lover and his only proper friend at the same time.

"John, you're not making this any easier for me," Sherlock whispered, wondering if John could hear the sound of his heart breaking.

"It's not easy for me either, you know. You leaving our life behind. You leaving me behind. It feels like my life started when you turned up, Sherlock." A small tear slid down his cheek and he felt his voice catch when he said his friend's name. "I had nothing before that, you know? I was just searching for answers that never came to light. Then the light came and it was you. And as I grew closer to you there was nothing else but the light. You are my life, Sherlock. But, as soon as you jump off that building, the candle is going to blow out and I'll be left in the darkness and I just can't see a world without you. So that's why I'm coming with you."

"John, no," Sherlock protested, but John was determined now.

"Just... let me talk. We'll jump together and that way I won't need to know a life without light. 'Cause you'll be in heaven with me, right?"

"Well... I've been reliably informed that it's hell I'm going to," Sherlock sniffed.

"Heaven, hell, whatever. As long as I'm with you." John stepped towards Sherlock and they stood on the edge together, face to face, gripping each other's arm.

"God, oh God, John. I'm scared. I'm so scared." Sherlock's golden eyes darted to the ground many metres below them where Molly and Mrs Hudson stood, preparing themselves for the chain of events that was about to unfold.

"Me too," John's grey-blue eyes met Sherlock's golden ones and in that moment they could have stepped down and walked back home, pretended all of this had never happened and live the life that they had seen. But they knew they couldn't. It wasn't their destiny for that to happen.

"Do you... do you remember that film that we watched together a long time ago? Les Misérables, yes. 'To love another person is to see the face of God', right? Well, I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

"I love you too, John Watson."

And they took the fall.

* * *

"Is that... is that John up there as well?" Mrs Hudson whispered. "My John, Sherlock. My boys, what are they doing?" She buried her head in Molly's shoulder, great sobs racking her body as she contemplated a life without her adopted sons.

Then, without warning, the two bodies, interlocked as one, fell to the ground. A sickening snap echoed about the streets. It took a moment to register what had just happened before the chaos started. People rushed to the men's side trying to help. Ambulances screamed around the corner. Molly could hear cries of shock and wails of horror. She had assisted this. What if it didn't work? What if it was all for nothing and Molly could never get the Doctor back?

Mrs Hudson pressed the silver fob watch into her palm and watched her toss it around her long fingers before it finally rested between her fingers, her thumb poised and ready to press the button.

The she pressed it.

The engraved front flipped up and golden light shot out, making its way to Sherlock instinctively. The others stepped back to watch as Sherlock Holmes became the Doctor.

When it seemed as if all of the light had disappeared into the Doctor, the body on the pavement was still motionless. It hadn't worked. _He's never coming back_. What's going to happen? Molly ran over to his side, frantically shaking him, slapping his cheeks to get any sign of life out of him. She even tried the kiss of life (she knew it wouldn't work but it was worth a try, wasn't it?).

And suddenly he shot up off the ground as several people screamed with horror and most of the crowd disappeared quickly after that. He looked down at his clothes in disgust. "What on earth am I wearing, Molly? I told you to make sure I had a good dress sense, didn't I?" Molly shook her head, still in shock. "Of course I didn't, I always leave something out, don't I?" She nodded shyly. "Molly, what on earth's wrong?"

"I just..." she could say no more as she was engulfed in a huge hug by the Doctor and she breathed in his warmth that had taken a long time coming. But he pulled away too soon, nodding to the ambulance that wailed around the corner, containing John.

"John Watson, one of the bravest men I know," he started. Molly wondered how he knew that John was brave. "I know because I still have all of Sherlock's memories, emotions..."

"You still... love John?" Molly whispered, fearing the worst; that she had been utterly and completely abandoned by the love of her life, that all of those months alone had been for nothing.

"Not anymore, Molly, don't worry," he murmured. Molly smiled sadly up at him, a small tear glided down her cheek, followed by another one and another. John had been her friend too, and she felt the same sadness for him as she would for any other man. Then she remembered his embarrassing watch collection which just sent more and more tears loose.

All this time she'd been self-centred and greedy, only wanting her Doctor back, treating the Time Lord like a possession that was hers and hers alone. She didn't even care about John's feelings when she snapped at him; she treated him with resentment just because he was in love. Then, egotistically, she separated him from his true love which caused him to want to kill himself. Suddenly a wave of anguish and guilt flooded over her. She'd shown nothing but hostility and greed; traits which she had inherited from her mother, for sure. She had a lot of growing up to do before she was worthy for the Doctor after all.

"I'm not worthy for you, Doctor," she said, putting distance between them. "I'm ashamed of what I've done. I've killed a man." A great sob racked her body and her face was etched with regret. "All that John ever showed me was kindness and warmth. Oh, God." She buried her head in her hands, tears now streamed steadily down her face which was red and puffed up from the crying.

Then he kissed her. Their lips crashed together like waves onto jagged rocks. Molly felt the warmth of his body as he pulled her closer to him, embracing her tightly as if he would never let her go. It was like the world had been lifted off her shoulders and no longer did she regret anything because the Doctor was here and everything would be okay. She lifted her hands up to his head, lacing her fingers in his ebony curls, enjoying the moment that she had wished for in every second since he had left.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**A/N: So thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed/followed/favourite my little old story that was last years summer project :') This is indeed the final chapter and I hope that no one is disappointed with the ending! Enjoy :)**

* * *

_I__'m coming with the watch._

_-SH_

The Doctor approached the main store of weaponry in the army base with a Sherlockian stride in his step, his cheekbones salient and the collar of the black trench coat turned up. It was almost like the consulting detective was there in person.

Upon entering the store, he was lead by his guide, a cleanly shaven man with a straight back and a desire for saluting to every person he passed in the corridors. The hallways were an unearthly white, and there was an almost ethereal atmosphere that could be cut with a knife. The smell of meticulous cleanliness pervaded the air and inside each doorway there were security checks and an armed guard in the same green khaki uniform that the others wore. The Doctor also detected a certain readiness in them. Their shoulders were stiff and tense, their grey eyes darted back and forth, the light on their communicators was continuously flashing; they were waiting for something to happen and it could only mean _danger_.

Much like Jim, the Doctor was led into a white room, the door locked behind him. "I have the watch," he said with a certain quiver escaping into his usually stiff voice.

"Place it on the table," an electronic voice echoed cleanly about the room. Immediately, a tiny white table popped up from the floor.

"What will you do with it?" he asked after a short pause, surveying the room, hands carefully placed behind his back.

"It is none of your concern, Mr Holmes. If you just place the watch on the table, the door will open for you soon after." He did as he was told and put the watch on the miniature table. As was promised, the door opened immediately. Using his long legs to their maximum potential, he held the door open with his toe and began doing something strange.

The Doctor curiously started typing in mid air. Tapping sounds reverberated off the walls. As he gradually got faster and faster, the room changed colour and the real identity of the room was revealed. The Doctor wasn't typing on invisible air any longer, rather on silver panels, stationed at regular intervals about the room, which was now bigger and much more alien like.

"What are you doing, Mr Holmes?" the voice snapped, but no figure appeared.

"I'm saving every single person's life that is in danger right now. And you know who I'm doing it for? Doctor John Watson. Because that man, that man, was a saint. Brilliant, he was. That man saved lives in ways that he didn't know, ways that he'll never know. The most human, human being ever to exist and he didn't know it. He never knew how much potential energy was stored in his soul. All it needed was a spark to light the touch paper. That spark was Sherlock Holmes. So I'm doing this for John – and Sherlock – for the life they have led and the life they should be leading."

"How does this concern us?"

The Doctor didn't reply. Within half a minute sirens were wailing and a red warning light flashed above his head. "Time to get out of here, I think? You shouldn't have let me press all those buttons. Run. Run for your lives."

* * *

"You can... you can come with us, you know," the Doctor said, a regretful look upon his face. "I can travel through space and time. You and me and Molly. It would be brilliant."

_Brilliant_.

A small smile materialised on Mrs Hudson's face and the Doctor returned it sadly. John's word. She shook her head gently, unable to meet the Doctor's speckled golden eyes. He was too much like Sherlock and it was therefore too painful.

"I understand," he said, smiling sympathetically. "He was a good man, Mrs Hudson. I know."

"Yeah," she whispered, waves of emotion momentarily overcoming her, her eyes welling up with tears. Finally she looked him in the eye and reached her hand out weakly to touch the Doctor's - Sherlock's - cheek for the last time. In that moment he was there in the flesh with her.

The Doctor stood patiently, smiling down into the old lady's eyes. The eyes that had seen so much in the past day. The eyes that saw the end of her two sons. The eyes that were soon to be closed eternally. The moment was gone almost as soon as it came; Mrs Hudson withdrew her hand and looked down to the floor. "Bye, then," she smiled.

"Goodbye, Mrs Hudson," he whispered and turned his back, striding out of 221B for the last time. He saw Molly leant up against the side of his little blue box, a sorrowful smile withering her usually elated features. She sensed that he needed consoling and stepped forwards to embrace him in a comforting, soothing hug. "That was the hardest thing I have ever done," he whispered in her ear, taking in a tearful breath. Slowly, she nodded into his shoulder but didn't say anything. They disbanded from the embrace and she took his hand firmly, leading him into the TARDIS.

Mrs Hudson watched the blue box disappear forever with a deep sadness that filled her from her toenails to the top of her head. The real truth was that she couldn't live everyday knowing that John wasn't with Sherlock. 'Sherlock and John' didn't even exist anymore.

A sad smile melted onto her wrinkled face; Sherlock hugging Molly was quite something. Sherlock hugging anything was quite something. Although it wasn't Sherlock, it was this Doctor that she'd been hearing about. Sherlock and the Doctor were very similar. Both were lonely angels, their destinies to live a life apart from others. Both had escaped the path that had been laid before them and gone off on a side road; found happiness and people to be with.

So if the Doctor was who he said he was, and Mrs Hudson didn't doubt that, then he would save the day. But nothing gets you nothing, everything comes at a price. Two lives for one. Sherlock and John for the Doctor.

"That's the story of my boys." She sighed to herself before turning and walking slowly, laboriously, up to their flat. She sat herself down on John's plaid chair and sighed with great burden. Her eyes closed for the last time. "And that's how it ended."

* * *

The sound of a low metallic siren sliced through the air as a blue box materialised on the top of a sand bank. The thin doors swung open with a loud creak to reveal a man with unruly locks of ebony hair and golden speckles in his sky blue eyes. He was clad in a dapper silver suit with a light blue tie.

"Afghanistan!" he shouted excitedly. "Twenty-fifth century if I'm not mistaken. It was the wind direction and the sand patterns that gave it away." He smiled cockily at the dark haired girl who stepped confidently out behind him.

"Wait, are you sure it's safe, Doctor?" she asked timidly, narrowing her eyes at him. "You know. There was a war right here in the present."

"Absolutely positive. This country is the most peaceful place in... oh." He stopped suddenly. Behind them was an army base. "Twenty first century. Always get it wrong. We'd better leave quickly, Molly. It's not too safe around here and, judging by the cloud formation and the worried look on that soldier's face something is going to happen soon. Very soon. Come on." He tugged on Molly's knitted sleeve but she wouldn't - couldn't - budge. "We need to go."

"But look," she whispered, squinting towards the soldier that the Doctor had pointed out. "Look closely at his face."

The Doctor's mouth opened to say something but he couldn't think of anything to say except-

"John Watson."

The soldier walked laboriously nearer to them, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"But it's John." The two time travellers were still open mouthed. It had been two months since Molly saw him last. And she'd completely forgotten about him.

"Excuse me," the man said, his back as straight as a rod, his gun now pointing at them cautiously. "Do you two have any right to be here?"

"Oh no, we were just... passing by," the Doctor managed to stutter. Although he was a different man, he still remembered all of those emotions that Sherlock had locked away during the two years when he was someone else. "We'll be gone soon, actually."

"Good," the man replied. He had now lowered his gun which was, quite frankly, a relief. "It's just that we're expecting an attack any minute now so you might want to get back to your... bunker." He gestured at the TARDIS.

"Yeah. Good idea. Actually, you might want to just come in with us? I mean, there's gonna be a bomb and the chances of survival are pretty slim," the Doctor offered. John Watson didn't need to contemplate it for a single moment.

"No," he answered sturdily. "I've got friends in that place and they rely on my orders. I've got to stay. Anyway, how would all three of us physically fit inside that tiny thing?"

"Well..." the Doctor started.

"Thanks, mate, but no thanks. Have a nice day," he winked at Molly and turned his back.

"John Watson, isn't it?" Molly called to him. Immediately he spun around and turned his gaze on her, his eyebrows furrowed.

"How do you know my name?"

"Just a lucky guess," she backtracked, although she was internally screaming. Two years down the line this man will be dead.

"I don't believe in luck. Brilliant though, whatever you did," he replied.

"Good luck, John. I hope you're going to have a lucky few hours."

"As I said, I don't believe in luck," he said, a half smile appeared on his face. "But thanks, anyway, whoever you are."

And he turned away for the last time. Molly could feel the tears rising in her eyes before the Doctor pulled her back into the TARDIS. As soon as the whirring noise began John turned around, curious as to what trick those strange people would pull out of the bag this time. But the thing was, they weren't there. That little blue box wasn't there. It was like nothing had been there in the first place. Maybe they hadn't been there, John thought. Maybe they were a figment of his blurred imagination from the sultry heat. He chuckled as he held the gun in his hand once again, a true soldier. Soon after, the screech of shells pierced his ears and he immediately set about relaying the news back to base. Than he ran as fast as he could. He ran back to be the doctor. The brilliant John Watson ran back to save lives.

* * *

_**THE END**_

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**Hello again! I hope you enjoyed it! Just a reminder that it takes, like, five seconds to review and it would meant he world to me if you could tap down your thoughts for me! Also, there's a lot more where this came from so you can check out my other stories if you want to! Thank you my lovely viewers!**


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